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I hit 100 reads today and honestly, knowing people read the shit I write up as a result of my over active imagination - boggles me every time

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I hit 100 reads today and honestly, knowing people read the shit I write up as a result of my over active imagination - boggles me every time. Thank you, sincerely.

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The day continues at such a speed. I find myself drawn to a particular stall or shop and as I display an interest, I'm positively shocked by how inexpensive such products are. Therefore, I buy them, and a handful more at twice the pricing, leaving the seller rather stunned and me rather exuberant.

That warmth in my chest never leaves, a strange tightness that isn't at all uncomfortable. Born from the smiles that stretch the faces of others, ones that I have gifted them with. Stunned speechless, but no words need to be transferred, their expression speaks thousands. It's a oddly addictive feeling that I'm not sure I ever want to leave.

I buy fruit - apples shined so spectacularly my reflection is clear, and pears too that are a stunning green. The man I pay is kind enough to offer me a bag. One fashioned from paper, so despite it's inability to fare well under strain, it serves it's purpose for the fruit and few blouses I have obtained. The blouses are not much my style - plain tired colours with nothing exactly exciting adorned to them - but I figure for my next trip, if I decide to visit again, they'll do me well.

The sun reaches it's apex, hanging like a glowing pendulum in the ocean of unmarked blue, beating down to warm us beneath it. So, I unbutton my coat to cool myself slightly, just as I veer left on another street, one I've yet to venture on. This street however, instantly gives me a strange heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. The cobbles stoned paving is blackened, just as the walls are, as if a fire has crawled along its surface. If it weren't for the sun casting a blanket of light over the place, I'd assume it to be barren. I can see the people that loiter though, brooding in the empty stalls or boarded shut shops.

The few people that are here look almost savage. They're completely filthy, clothing tattered, from head to toe. Matted hair and dirt struck faces. If I looked out of place before, I certainly do now. When heads turn to view me, it's quite easy to draw an educated guess on my location. Rogue territory – where the people with abominable levels have to reside. Irredeemable, destined to spend the rest of their lives hungry, homeless, and unemployed. I dread to think what they've done to have them reach such a low level in society.

I turn back on myself, but I can't take so much as a step. Blocked by a man with sparse teeth, eyes yellowed with jaundice, standing poisoned against the black orbs that sit centre, sporting a particularly conniving expression. I recoil, away from him and his looming stature, but his hand reaches out, finding my dark hair, which only paralyzes me with shock.

"You lost?" He asks me. His voice horse and damaged, grating as he speaks. It sounds almost painful, but he shows no sign of discomfort, twisting a strand of my hair around his index finger, his long nail raking over my jaw which makes me twinge with perturbation.

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